


11-In Dreams Begin Responsibility

by WritestuffLee



Series: The Warrior's Heart, Volume 4, The Long Shadow [11]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-03
Updated: 2007-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:12:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritestuffLee/pseuds/WritestuffLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan has a dream and walks a bit farther along his own path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	11-In Dreams Begin Responsibility

 

Obi-Wan wakes in the middle of the night, shivering and gasping, his head full of darkness, his heart pounding. It isn’t a flashback this time but a vision of the future that pulls him from sleep. He’s been walking through an empty Temple, one not just devoid of residents but filled with bodies, burn-scorched, maimed, and still clutching their own weapons even in death.

All but the younglings, who’ve had no defenses.

The horror of seeing their small, mutilated bodies scattered through the halls of the creche has pushed him into wide-eyed wakefulness, filled him with nausea.

And as always at home, he wakes with Qui’s arms around him and Qui’s warmth at his back and the gentle light of Qui’s presence filtering through their bond to dispel the darkness of his vision. Another night, another vision, it might be enough to soothe him into sleep again. Tonight, the horrific images stay before him in the dark and he knows he will have to get out of bed and wake fully, step into the physical light, to dispel them.

“ _Kosai_?” comes in a sleep-heavy voice as Obi-Wan extricates himself from his lover’s arms and slips out of bed.

“I’m all right,” he whispers, sending a thread of reassurance through their bond. “Go back to sleep.”

Back through it, along with the glowing warmth that is Qui himself, comes concern and love, and the desire to soothe and protect. But Qui cannot protect him from this, cannot protect him at all, anymore. It is no longer Qui’s duty, even if it is one he desires. He carefully picks up his robe from the bench at the foot of the bed and struggles awkwardly into it, then slips through the door silently, leaving Qui alone in their bed.

He walks into their kitchen in the dark, bringing the lights up as he decides to make tea. He opens the drawers and cupboards with the Force, removes the things he needs—pot, cup, strainer, canister, spoon—and levitates them gently to the counter, objects flying about like in some magic show. His fine control is excellent now and quite automatic, after so many tens of daily practice. He can feed himself, dress in his full kit, even wipe his own ass again, he thinks sardonically.

But there are days—long, idle days of nothing but therapy and running or swimming when he has to work to keep himself occupied. Only in the past ten has his mind settled enough to concentrate on reading, instead of the hours of mindless holo broadcasts he has filled it with. Lately, his fingers itch to pick up his instruments and make music with them. He wonders if he ever will again. His physical therapist tells him it will be good exercise when the splints come off, but he wonders if he will be able to bear the frustration of his own clumsiness then. In the meanwhile, he sings, instead. It’s not the same.

Carefully, he pours the water with a gesture and leans back against the counter while his tea steeps. The light and activity have shaken some of the horror out of his head, but there is one scene that stays with him: a young woman’s body, her hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of a saber too large for them. Clearly she has died defending her friends, doing her duty. What haunts him is that he knows her, among all the other nameless dead. Her name is Jicky and he helped rescue her from slavers years ago. Already at the age of three or four she had very good control of Force manipulation, almost as good as his own at the time. He cannot get out of his mind the sight of her lying dead with another dead Jedi’s saber in her hands. He wonders what the Force is trying to tell him.

 _Nothing_ , Qui would say. _Live in the moment._ But then what is the point of these visions, this talent? His master has always discounted this particular ability in Obi-Wan, but he is coming to believe that Qui is not right about this—and that perhaps Master Yoda is more evasive about it than necessary. His own hunches and visions have proven true too often. His foreseeing of the whole Naboo debacle should have—

The answer comes to him in a flash of insight. Qui-Gon _fears_ his visions and what he fears, he puts out of his mind, dismisses, ignores: his own fear of heights, for example. Afraid of another failure with a new padawan, he had ignored what the Force told him about Initiate Kenobi until their bond formed despite him. Qui-Gon lives eternally in the moment because he knows he cannot control anything else. And Qui-Gon is very much a man in control—at least of everything he does, if not of everything that happens to or around him.

Obi-Wan picks up his cup gingerly, holding it with two hands, and takes a sip, letting the warmth fill him like Qui’s warmth through the bond. What does that make him, he wonders? He is the one who has always followed the rules, the Code, but the Code says nothing about his visions or what should be done about them. Like their bond, his visions are of the Force, and outside the Code. He wonders idly why he never saw the consequences of Qui’s near-fatal injury, why he now only sees this horror at the Temple and not what leads up to it.

If he is supposed to do something to prevent this, to change it, shouldn’t he know more?

Perhaps not. He’d been shown only Qui’s death—the burning pyre—and in the moment it had actually happened, formed the bond that connected them now, and dragged the man he loved back from joining the Force prematurely. He had followed Qui’s dictum to _feel, don’t think._ Given more time to think about it, would he have done the same?

Perhaps not. Given a clearer picture of that _when_ , he might just as likely have followed the Code, reconciled himself to Qui’s death, and let Qui go, as he nearly had, seeing the man filled so beautifully with the light of the Force. _There is no death, there is the Force._ In that moment, Qui was both utterly himself and the Force itself. _Death, yet the Force,_ as some of the older texts say, which could mean something entirely different than merely passing from life into the Force. Perhaps, sometimes, there was the Force to stave off death, at least for a time. Or to preserve some part of them in death.

He shivers, slopping a little tea onto the floor. Thoughts like that border on attachment and heresy. Why would the Force save Qui-Gon Jinn for the sake of his soon-to-be-knighted padawan? Why would it allow them to bond so closely that it is sometimes almost physically painful to be apart, so closely that they share one another’s emotions and sensations? As he’d said earlier to Qui, if that isn’t attachment, he doesn’t know what is. And yet the Force not only allowed it, but helped it along, not as the Dark Side might have, by filling them merely with power, but in a moment full of ecstatic and blinding light, like their now-long-ago night in the Temple gardens.

And as Qui has pointed out repeatedly, the Code is not the Force.

He blots up the dribble of tea. The bond is quiet and Qui deeply asleep again, having taken Obi-Wan at his word.

And he was—is—all right. Just full of questions tonight, in the wake of his vision, and the events of his latest mission, and his “accidental” pilgrimage to the Kirtan. Discovering that his own namesake was wed and the father of children makes his own devotion to Qui seem less transgressive than it has in the past. _The Order wasn’t always like this._ The Force has remained the same; only their interpretations and customs concerning it have changed. And who is to say they are more right now than in the past? Change is not always progress. Just as often it is entropy and decadence.

He sips his tea, lets his mind go blank to see what might swim up from its depths. By the time his cup is empty, three tenets of the Code are cycling through his thoughts. _Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony._ Mixed in with that somehow are the girl, his bond with Qui, the moment now and the moments to come.

He hears Qui snoring and smiles a little sadly. Despite his crooked nose, Qui never snores unless he’s very tired. These last several tens have been exhausting for him, emotionally and physically. Obi-Wan knows he has been a trial to live with, being both helpless and fractious, and yet there has been not one sharp word or complaint from Qui, only the same incredible tenderness he shows every wounded, lost, or miserable creature. If the Order had such a thing as saints, the man would be one, Obi-Wan sometimes thinks.

And he himself anything but: hotheaded, impatient, naive, still finding his own way beyond his master’s shadow. The two of them are so different, sometimes he wonders what makes them love each other. And yet, when it comes down to it, it is the same thing: the light in each of them, manifested in its different ways. In their differences, they balance each other. And perhaps that is what their bond is all about: balance. In their relationship, perhaps in the Force itself. Perhaps it was not himself the Force allowed him to save Qui for, but Anakin. He can think of no one else who can possibly guide the boy away from the anger and darkness inside him into the light, if anyone can.

 _If, if, if._ Now he knows he is in the realm of speculation. _Ignorance, yet knowledge._ Clearly, there is some work to be done, and this is the perfect time to do it. It would keep his mind occupied in his idleness, now that he can concentrate again. And perhaps there has been a reason for that, too. And if not, at least he can give it some meaning of his own.

He rinses his cup and leaves it in the sink, flicking the lights off as he turns back to the bedroom, where the warmth and light of the man who is no longer his master awaits. Tomorrow, he will visit the archives—and the creche. In the bedroom, he shrugs out of Qui’s raggedy old robe, appropriated long ago, and crawls in beside him once again. Qui shifts in his sleep, turning toward him like one of his plants toward sunlight. The image makes Obi-Wan smile. He moves back into Qui’s arms, nuzzles the broken nose, sighs contentedly, and settles down to sleep again. The bond fills with Qui’s soft glow, the bed warm with the heat of his body.

 _Passion, yet serenity._ At least that much is clear.

 

* * *

 

 

In the morning, after his appointments with various healers, Obi-Wan found his way to the creche. In making inquiries, he realized he didn’t know Jicky’s birth name, only the name she had called herself, at the age of three or four after being ripped from her family. And he had never bothered to question whether she would even be in temple. He couldn’t imagine them not taking her in with the talent she’d exhibited, even at her somewhat “advanced” age.

While a padawan searched the records, Obi-Wan wandered into a playroom filled with Force toys and several clans of ten- and eleven-year-olds. He broke into a smile watching objects zing around the room, chased and propelled by eager younglings. One remote headed straight for him and he fended it off with a gentle Force push of his own, sending the group racing off after it in another direction. He spotted Anakin in the crowd and was pleased to see him surrounded by a number of other initiates, all of them working together on a kinetic puzzle. Anakin seemed much happier—and more popular—than when Obi-Wan had last looked in on him.

He watched for several minutes before his attention was caught by one initiate in particular, a small, thin girl, whose size made her look younger than the others in her age group. She seemed not to know she was smaller than the others though, and was clearly looked to as a leader, organizing her group into a game with one of the seeker balls, which she orchestrated with some clear goal in mind. The girl was a flame in his mind, her Force presence like a small star, hot and bright.

“Jicky,” he murmured.

The girl whipped around to look at him, though she could not possibly have heard him above the cacophony of playing children. Extraordinarily, he felt a thread of connection growing between them, like the first bond that had sprung up between him and Qui-Gon on Bandomeer. It made the fine hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He knew what was happening and did not feel ready for it. _Live in the moment._

She left her group across the room and made her way straight to him, never taking her eyes from his face. When they were a few feet apart, she stopped and bowed. “Master. I don’t know your name but I keep thinking ‘Owie,’ for some reason. That can’t be right.”

He returned the bow, lips pressed together to hide a grin, hands tucked in his sleeves. “That was your best attempt at my name when I first met you,” he replied, smiling. The girl watched him with a calm curiosity. “And you told me your name was Jicky when we first met. I’ll tell you my real name if you’ll tell me yours.”

“Jinekiah Salis, Master. But everybody calls me Jicky. You’re right about that.”

“My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. I would shake hands with you, but,” he paused, and held them out before him, still in their splints.

“Padawan Kenobi! Oh, wow! I didn’t know that was you!” Her eyes widened in what was clearly awe. “You were hurt on a mission?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes. I’m a knight now. But I was still a padawan when my master and I found you.”

“Of course, sorry. No disrespect meant, Knight Kenobi. But that was a long time ago,” she said. It’s ancient history to her, yesterday to Obi-Wan. “And you’ve got a beard now.”

“So I do,” he agreed. “How old are you now, Jicky?”

“Just turned eleven, Master. If you’re a knight now, are you here looking for a padawan?” The question at the forefront of every initiate’s mind, especially at this age.

“I was just looking for you, at first, but now I’m not so sure that’s not the same thing.” He felt as though events were moving without him, as though he’d lost control, somehow, of the moment, of his words, perhaps of his life. And yet . . . _Can you hear_ — He sent the question across the fine tendril between them, the way he and Qui used to communicate — _me?_

 _Yep. I heard you across the room, too._ Her thoughts came back clear as a bell, as clear as Qui-Gon’s had once been through their own bond. “But I can hear everybody, if I’m not careful.” She shrugged.

“Ah, a broadband sender/receiver, like Isa Kassir.” The thread was still there between them, glowing softly, though it was not a bond, not yet. It could be, given half a chance. “Actually, I had a, a Force vision, and you were in it. I thought perhaps it was time I came to see how you were faring.”

“Oh, I thought maybe—you know . . .” She mumbled, crestfallen, and looked away.

He remembered that feeling all too well himself. At this age, any encounter with a knight or master not of the creche teaching staff was fraught with both hope and fear—hope of being chosen, fear of being sent down to the corps, of failing the ultimate goal. But he knew nothing about this girl, other than that she had some extraordinary abilities and that they seemed to have an affinity for one another.

He stopped for a moment, to try to slow things down, regain some sense of control, but his vision of the night before superimposed itself in a quick, harrowing flash, and the words tumbled from him despite himself. The Force, apparently, wanted what it wanted—and it was, at last, trying to tell him something. How had Qui-Gon ever resisted this? “Let me be frank with you, Jicky. I did not come here today looking for a padawan. I’ve only been knighted a couple of years myself, and because of my injuries, I don’t know that I’ll be in the field again. That might not make me the best master for you. But there’s time, yet, to see how things develop. I can’t, in fairness, make you any promises, but I think the Force is suggesting that we at least consider it. The timing just seems to be a bit off, at least for me.”

She looked up at him again, and down at his hands with an equal frankness. “No, I see what you mean, Knight Kenobi.”

“We’ll speak again, Jicky. I can promise you that much.” They bowed to one another, and she grinned. There was something insouciant in it that Obi-Wan liked. “It was good to see you again, Initiate Salis.”

“You too, Knight Kenobi. I hope your hands heal okay. The Force be with you.”

“Thank you. And with you. Off you go.” He smiled and made shooing motions. Jicky turned back to her group, who immediately surrounded her and bombarded her with questions, casting looks in Obi-Wan’s direction, accompanied by various exclamations and expressions of awe and envy. The commotion drew Anakin’s attention.

“Hey! Knight Kenobi! Hi!” the boy called, running over to him from his own group. “How are you?” he asked after sketching a quick bow. “Master Qui-Gon said you’d been hurt.”

“Hello, Ani. Yes, I was, but I’m healing up now.” He showed Anakin the splints on his hands and explained why they were necessary in response to the inevitable questions. Anakin showed no sign of squeamishness, only a typical boyish fascination with the icky.

“It must have hurt though,” he said, looking up at Obi-Wan with the light of hero worship in his eyes.

“Quite a lot,” Obi-Wan admitted.

“I’ll bet you were really brave and didn’t make a sound.”

Best to pop Anakin’s bubble. “The truth is, Ani, I squealed like a stuck nerf. Some things hurt too much for anybody to endure in silence. The important thing is that you endure. And there’s no shame in failing in that, either. We all have our limits.”

Anakin looked crestfallen, his illusions shattered. “Even Master Qui-Gon? And Master Yoda?”

“Yes, even them.” Anakin clearly didn’t believe this, but Obi-Wan decided to let him chew on it by himself. “I see you’ve made some new friends.”

Anakin’s grin reappeared and widened. “Yeah, I took your advice, Knight Kenobi, and just ignored people when they were mean to me. Then I tried to do something nice for them later. You were right. It works. Well, most of the time.”

“Sometimes it takes a while. Don’t give up. It’s not going to do you any harm. May I join you?” he asked.

Anakin began to glow, almost radioactive with happiness. “Sure! Come on.”

Obi-Wan settled down to work the puzzle with Anakin and his group for a little while and gave Jicky another full bow from across the room when the initiates were called to their next lessons. Obi-Wan left the creche with a copy of Jicky’s records in his datapad and his head whirling, feeling as though the ground had fallen out from beneath his feet, the way it had when he first learned he’d been knighted.

On autopilot, he headed for the refectory to meet Qui-Gon for midmeal, picked his food out without really seeing it, and found his partner at their usual table. Qui-Gon noticed his bemusement immediately.

“Good news? You look, hmm— _almost_ happy, but not quite.”

“Stunned is more like it.” Obi-Wan lowered his tray to the table with the Force and sat down. “I think I’ve nearly taken a padawan, Qui.”

He was pleased to see his imperturbable master suddenly at a loss for words and gaping fishlike at him. Qui recovered quickly though, as Obi-Wan knew he would. Years of being blind-sided at negotiation tables saw to it.

“Care to tell me how this came about?”

So he did: the vision, his visit to the creche, the nascent bond that had sprung up between himself and the girl.

“Well, I must say I’m surprised,” Qui-Gon admitted, when Obi-Wan had finished. “I hadn’t thought you’d be wanting a padawan for a while yet.”

“I wasn’t,” Obi-Wan confirmed, looking dubiously at what had ended up on his tray. “I hadn’t thought about it at all. It just happened. Rather the way you and I just happened.”

Qui-Gon smiled sourly. “When I finally let it.”

“Well, yes,” Obi-Wan grinned back. He made a stab at something on his plate, hoping it wouldn’t try to run away. Had he really put _that_ on his plate?

“I trust you won’t be making the same mistake your old master did.”

“I’m not sure I have that much choice in the matter. But I can hardly take a padawan now, Qui. The shape of my career is too uncertain. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“She’s eleven, you say? There’s time, then.”

“That’s what I told her.”

“And how did she react?”

“She was disappointed, of course, but seemed to take it in stride. A perfectly reasonable reaction. I had the creche master forward her records.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “The next logical step.”

“And how do you feel about the prospect of another padawan hanging about?”

“I could ask you the same question about Anakin.”

“Two of them.” Obi-Wan shook his head. “We’ll have to get larger quarters. But you won’t be bonding with Anakin for a while yet, surely?”

“No, he has some catching up to do still, though he’s progressed remarkably quickly. You may very well be paired up with Jicky before Anakin and I forge a real bond.”

“Is it always like this? So precipitous? So obvious?”

“I can’t speak for others, Knight Kenobi.” It was both odd and strangely right to hear Qui address him so formally. The subject matter seemed to call for it. “It has been for me, even with Ayana, who’d had another master before me. And with Xanatos, though there was a whisper of caution there too, that I failed to heed. And, of course, you. As you did, sometimes the padawan chooses the master. Or the Force chooses through them.”

“I knew who she was right away, even though she looked different.”

“You’re certain it was her you saw in your vision too?”

“Yes. Though she didn’t look anything like she does now, either. She was clearly older. And not a knight or a padawan.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t mention that.”

“It just occurred to me. She must have been part of one of the corps.” He thought back to the vision again. “Diplomatic, possibly. Not Agri or Pilots or Healers.”

“Ah,” Qui-Gon said in a carefully neutral tone that spoke volumes to his former padawan.

“What?” Obi-Wan asked in suspicion.

“No, you must do as you see fit, Obi-Wan. This is your decision.”

Obi-Wan took another bite of his dubious food, using the mastication process to buy time. Whatever this was, it was particularly tough. This was the peril of not paying attention in the refectory’s line. And it wouldn’t do to waste it. “You think I’m trying to change the future.”

“Are you?” Qui-Gon countered mildly.

“I only went to the creche to see how she was getting on, Qui. Not with the intention of asking her to be my padawan.” It was hard to keep the defensiveness out of his voice.

“Then the answer is ‘no,’ apparently.” Qui-Gon put one of his large hands very lightly over one of Obi-Wan’s. “I don’t have your talents, love. You must do as the Force tells you, regardless of my . . . opinions.”

“You are the most exasperating man,” Obi-Wan grumbled.

“And yet—”

“And yet I seem completely unable to live without you,” Obi-Wan retorted, withdrawing his hand and turning back to his food. “No need to be smug about it.”

Qui-Gon wisely said nothing, but couldn’t hide the tiniest of smiles.

 

* * *

 

 

Obi-Wan went next to the archives, where he pestered Jocasta Nu and her assistants for information on Jedi philosophers.

“Teaching a class, Knight Kenobi?” Jocasta inquired, her fingers flying over the databoard.

“No. Just for my own edification, Master Nu. I’d be particularly interested in the original Master Kenobi’s works.

“Hmph. The Order was very different then,” Jocasta snorted, obviously disapproving. “We’ve come a long way.”

“Perhaps. But in which direction of the entropy arrow?” Obi-Wan replied. Baiting Master Nu had been one of his favorite pastimes as a senior padawan and the activity hadn’t paled in appeal since his knighting. He waited for the explosion with an outwardly mild demeanor and interior glee.

“You can’t possibly think we haven’t progressed in our thinking in the last ten thousand years!”

“It wouldn’t be the first time. Civilizations—and organizations—do decline. Perhaps it’s been more a case of ‘one step forward, two steps back.’”

Master Nu looked completely aghast. “The Force would never allow it, surely!”

Obi-Wan shrugged with studied nonchalance. “Then why would it allow the existence of the Sith?”

“Is that what you’re researching?” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“Just filling a gap in my knowledge, Master Nu. I didn’t study much philosophy as a padawan. I have some time on my hands now, so to speak, and it’s been recommended by the Kirtan.”

“That old fool,” she muttered. “Here,” she said, thrusting a chip at him savagely. “Your ancestor and several others of the same ilk, for a start. Come back if you want more.” Her tone implied he wouldn’t.

“Thank you, Master Nu. The Force be with you.” Obi-Wan bowed deferentially and turned away, only then allowing the grin to spread across his face.

He was still grinning when he reached his own quarters. He struggled out of his boots and stood them by the door, then went to the kitchen to make tea, carrying the tray out in his own hands rather than using the Force—the first time he’d managed that. Pouring from the pot was still too delicate an operation to be left to his splint-encased hands, but at least he could hold the cup on his own with care and attention. He’d stopped scrupling about using the Force for such a mundane purpose, as Qui had known he would, and should.

So much he didn’t know yet. So much he didn’t understand, hadn’t experienced, couldn’t fathom or even imagine. How could he possibly take a padawan? _I suppose no one ever feels ready_ , he thought. It all just seemed so unlikely. He put his cup down and picked up his datapad, opening Jicky’s files.

And frowned.

It wasn’t that she was a bad or even just average student. She wasn’t. She tested on the high end of the intelligence scale and received good and often excellent evaluations in all her subjects. She had an aptitude for science and math—her strongest subjects; a reasonably high midichlorian count; and that impressive telekinetic and telepathic talent. If anything, her only weakness seemed to be that she was a bit of a bookworm, one who was a somewhat awkward physically. What had made him frown was a note from her clan leader: _Extremely independent, sometimes defiant. As often as not does as she pleases when she thinks she’s right._

Then he laughed, realizing why the description struck a chord in him. Obi-Wan suspected it could have been copied word for word from Qui-Gon’s creche records. And he knew instinctively what Qui would say, when Obi-Wan told him of it: _Perhaps she needs someone just like you to give her balance._ As he’d balanced Qui all these years. “Kept him from running amok, more likely,” Obi-Wan muttered to himself.

No doubt the girl would be a handful—rather like, say, having Bruck as a padawan, but with all the attendant adolescent drama peculiar to girls, instead of the horror that boys went through. He remembered her, at the age of barely four, fearlessly using the Force to wrench a vibroshiv from the hand of the man holding it to his throat all those years ago, stamping her wee foot and yelling “Don’t hurt my friend!” Very independent indeed. He found he was glad she hadn’t lost that and realized he liked the girl, even though—or perhaps because—she seemed to be such a pistol. Well, it wasn’t as if he weren’t used to characters. Qui, Bruck, Siri, even sweet, mild Bant had her moments. And Ti, whom he’d come to see in a quite different light in recent days as she pushed and cajoled and bullied him into giving up his fears and secrets, when she wasn’t offering him comfort and safety and unconditional acceptance.

Still holding his cup, he put down the datapad, Jicky’s records having told him everything they could, and folded his legs beneath him on the sofa, closing his eyes. In a few moments, he was breathing slowly and deeply, the Force almost a live thing around him, not its usual quiet hum. He’d found himself where Qui usually went in his meditations, into the Living Force, not the Unified Force he knew better. And the reason for that was Jicky.

The thread of connection between them was still there, tenuous but shining brightly, the scaffold of a true bond. He held onto that and let himself sit with the idea of taking a padawan first, and got no clear feeling one way or another. Adding the girl herself to the equation was a different matter altogether. The connecting thread between them flared brightly and he could almost sense her turning to look for him in the room where she was studying. _//Master?//_ her voice came as clearly as if she were standing next to him. _//Go back to your work, Jicky,//_ he told her. _//Yes, Master.//_ Clearly, they had a strong affinity with one another. But was it more than that?

Gingerly, as though they were two volatile chemicals, Obi-Wan let the idea of _Padawan_ and _Jicky_ coalesce together in his mind. _My padawan,_ he thought, as he still thought of Qui as _my master._ And before he could stop it, the connection had flared to life again, the single thread suddenly dozens reaching out from both Jicky and himself, wrapping and weaving themselves tighter around the original thread until they were an unmistakable bond. _//Master! I’m trying to concentrate here.//_ Reproachful. Annoyed. Oh, she was very independent indeed and not at all afraid of speaking her mind!

Obi-Wan found himself laughing aloud, filled with a sudden and inescapable joy, the first he’d felt in, well, since before his last mission. _//My apologies, Padawan. We’ll speak later.//_

 _//Padawan?!//_ Astonished. Hopeful. A little frightened now.

_//Apparently that’s what the Force has decided. Now go back to your studies. I’ll come for you later.//_

_//Yes, Master!//_ Squirmy excitement and elation filled the new bond, nearly swamping him. They’d have to talk about shielding, first thing. Still, her reaction made him grin.

With or without the bond, it felt right, he realized as he opened his eyes. _Chaos, yet harmony._ Yes, Jicky was certain to bring them both a bit of welcome chaos, out of which, perhaps, his own harmony would grow again.

 

* * *

 

 

“Obi-Wan?” he heard Qui call. He hadn’t heard the door open and had obviously lost track of the time, if this was Qui back from his last class.

“In here, Qui,” he called, and his own master appeared in the door of Obi-Wan’s old padawan room, which they’d been using as storage for the past several years. “Where did we get all this—stuff?” he demanded in dusty consternation. Half of it should have been tossed in the recycler or oubliette from the get-go, the rest of it, well, beggars wouldn’t have some of it. “Is it you or I who’s the pack rat?”

“Both, I suspect,” Qui replied, eyeing his ebullience suspiciously. Obi-Wan ignored him. The new bond glittered warmly in his mind, side by side with Qui’s, filling him with a happiness he hadn’t felt in too long. Qui-Gon shrugged out of his cloak and heaved a box of something that could only charitably be called junk onto the narrow bed. “What’s this?”

“My fault,” Obi-Wan admitted cheerfully. “Bits and pieces of electronics and various gizmos. I suspect Anakin could make good use of them.”

“I’ll take them down to him, then, when I see him tomorrow. I assume this means you’ve come to a decision about Jicky.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “About as much of a decision as I made about you, and vice versa.”

“Ah. Well, at least you’re showing more sense about it than I did.”

“Honestly, Qui, it’s like falling down a well. There’s no use pretending I had a choice. The bond was just _there_ all of a sudden.”

“You don’t seem disturbed by that. On the contrary.”

“Why should I be, when it feels so right?” Qui-Gon shook his head, smiling crookedly. “What?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I’m just amazed at how much wiser you are at your age than I was.”

Obi-Wan snorted again. “You can’t tell me that your bonds with Ayana and Xanatos weren’t this obvious, old man. Or that you fought them the way you did ours. You love having padawans.” He was amused to see Qui-Gon actually coloring up. That didn’t happen often.

“All right, no. I didn’t fight them the way I fought ours. Of course not. But you know your own mind in a way I didn’t.”

“Meaning I didn’t ask you or anyone else for advice.”

“Yes. Among other things.”

Obi-Wan leaned up and kissed him, leaving a dusty smudge on his cheek. “Well, I have you to thank for that, my master who taught me to follow the dictates of the Force,” he murmured, wiping at the smudge with a corner of his tunics that was less dirty than others. It didn’t do much but spread the dirt around. Qui didn’t seem to care, and leaned down for more kisses. Obi-Wan obliged happily, slipping into Qui’s arms.

“Our privacy is going to go up in smoke shortly,” Obi-Wan remarked when they finally parted. His arms were still around Qui’s waist, fingers resting lightly on the cloth of his sash. “Does that bother you?”

“It’s a little sooner than I expected, but no, not particularly. I’ve got long years of practice being discrete with padawans. You’ll have to learn a bit of discretion though. I’ve a feeling it might be more of a trial for Jicky than for us.”

“Poor girl. Speaking of which, I’d better let her know what the arrangements are.”

“ _Kosai_ , wait.” Qui-Gon’s hand closed on his arm as he turned to go. He looked up into his former master’s face, read concern there, and found himself suddenly angry.

“You think I’m rushing into this,” he accused.

“No, love. I don’t,” Qui-Gon said gently, and just as quickly as it had come, the anger was gone. Obi-Wan sat down on the bed, letting the adrenalin drain out of him. This new bond had thrown him more than he realized, if he was so quickly set off. He’d regained a great deal of his emotional equilibrium recently but was realizing now how fragile that was.

Qui sat beside him companionably. “Obviously, this bond with Jicky was meant to be. But you said yourself that the timing is off and your career uncertain. You may want to wait a bit to make arrangements. You’re not field-ready yet, so she’d remain in classes anyway. Why uproot her now? Speak with her, make sure she knows she’s going to be your padawan, even kit her out and cut her hair, but let her stay where she is for the time being. It’s not unusual for new padawans to stay in the creche for a bit, and there’s plenty of time for her to move in here. There’s no need for the transition to be an abrupt one, as it often is. This will give her some time to adjust. And us too.”

Obi-Wan rubbed his forehead gingerly with his fingertips. “You’re right, of course. I’m not thinking clearly about this.”

“I suspect you’re a little drunk on the new bond,” Qui-Gon told him.

“Is that it? Feedback from Jicky? That would make sense. She’s shatteringly happy and, despite her work with Master Tiin, her shields aren’t that good. I’ll have to speak with Isa about her own training.”

“Quite,” Qui-Gon agreed. “You’ll both settle down in a couple of days, I imagine. Here, let me help you clean up, so you can claim your padawan looking like a proper Jedi rather than a dustbin-diver, Master Kenobi.” Qui-Gon was trying hard not to smile, but it finally broke out across his face in a mixture of amusement, pleasure, and pride. Obi-Wan laughed along with him. Qui-Gon leaned down again and kissed him tenderly. “Congratulations, _kosai_. You’re about to embark on a marvelous adventure.”

 _Or a horrible nightmare,_ Obi-Wan suddenly thought, with a shiver. However it turned out, there was no going back. He had a padawan to think of now. And perhaps the dream he’d found her in would not come true after all.


End file.
